Game Over
by BlueFlame013
Summary: USUK 1P/2P AU fanfic - there are a string of unsolved murders happening on Arthur and Alfred's estate, and Arthur has been acting strangely since they started... Rated M for mental illness and murder themes.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Ok, so this is my first proper Hetalia fanfiction, so please don't be too harsh **

**Please enjoy!**

* * *

Alfred F. Jones jolted awake. His eyes squinted in the semi-darkness, searching for something that wasn't there. His skin was covered in a thin sheet of cold sweat, and the only things he could hear were his own, shallow breaths, and the deep, relaxed breathing of his partner, Arthur Kirkland, who was sleeping in the same bed, to his right. Alfred's breathing calmed down gradually, his pounding heart slowing. It had just been a dream - well, a nightmare. He'd had the same one countless time, about Arthur. Only, it wasn't Arthur in the dream...

No. It was him. That monster, that hadn't ventured into the open for over five years - a fact for which Alfred knew both him and Arthur were largely grateful.

Alfred turned over so he was facing Arthur's back, exhaled to calm himself that bit more, and closed his eyes, putting an arm gently around Arthur's waist. The last thing he heard was Arthur mumbling something in his sleep, and he smiled to himself.

The next morning, Alfred opened his eyes slowly, groaning at the light that streamed through the large window at the right of the bed, facing out into the street below. After a moment, of trying to look into the light - without much luck of his eyes getting used to it - he simply got up and drew the blinds, sighing at the dimness that enveloped the room.

"Alfred? You up?" Came Arthur's voice from downstairs. Alfred's face broke out in a smile at his voice.

"Yeah, I'll be down in a minute!" He called back. He threw on a t-shirt, his glasses and jeans, and ran a brush through his hair, before bounding down the stairs, where Arthur had made a fry-up, and was just starting to eat his. Alfred sat down carefully, examining the food - it wasn't everyday that Arthur made something that was particularly edible. After a moment, Arthur looked up. "Oh, just eat it, it's fine," he snapped.

Alfred held his hands up in a surrender. "Er, morning to you too." He picked up a piece of bacon in his hands and took a bite, chewing it slowly. Arthur was right, it wasn't as bad as some of the things he'd made in the past. Alfred finished the bacon and ate everything else fairly quickly, finishing before Arthur.

"I'll wash up when you're done - d'you want me to-"

"Yes. Put the news on." Arthur's voice was anxious, and Alfred couldn't blame him. Recently, there had been a short string of deaths around their estate. Or murders, rather. The police didn't have any leads as to who was behind it, so the people were left to fear for their lives. Other than the fact that all the deaths had been on the same estate, the victims were completely random, so no one could be sure if they were safe. Alfred's gut twisted, as he remembered Arthur after the first murder, the effect it had had on him... he squeezed his eyes shut; he didn't want to think about that, about the way Arthur's voice had shook, his whole body trembling. He went around the table, kissing Arthur on the head as he went past, to the small television they had on the kitchen counter. When he turned it on, it was already on the news channel. Arthur stopped eating, and they just watched the news woman, sat at a desk with the news logo behind her on a screen.

"And, also this morning, another murder on Greenwood Estate. A girl named Angelina Brooke, twenty three years old, was stabbed to death in her home. Police are doing all they can to catch the perpetrator. Her family and friends are devastated, and her funeral will be held at St. Mark's church. In other news..."

Alfred turned the television off. That was all they wanted to hear. Arthur pushed his plate away.

"I'm not hungry anymore."

"Aw, c'mon Art, you've gotta eat something - you've hardly eaten since this whole thing started." Alfred tried to push the plate back, but Arthur didn't let him.

"I'm fine - you don't need to worry about me, Al."

"I'm not worried about you, I just..." Alfred trailed off. Of course he was worried about Arthur - who wouldn't be? He'd lost a few pounds from not eating, and jumped whenever someone entered a room. He wasn't himself.

Of course, there was one thing - a thought at the back of Alfred's mind, nagging at him... but no. That could never be right. He didn't want it to be right. He would not think of that. If he said anything to Arthur, he didn't think the poor man would be able to take it - not while he was in the state he was getting himself in.

"Just what?" Asked Arthur, his eyes narrowed. Alfred sighed.

"Nothing. Just, please look after yourself."

"I am doing." His voice was dismissive and tired, like he wanted this conversation to be over. Alfred didn't want to talk about this either, but he felt he had no choice.

"No, Art, you're not. You need to eat something." He pushed the still almost-full plate of food back to Arthur, who scowled.

"Don't call me 'Art'. It's Arthur. And don't bloody tell me what I need to do!" He stood up abruptly and stormed out. Alfred rushed after him, bewildered at the sudden change of tone.

"Arthur!"

"I'm going for a walk. I want to be alone. I won't be long." He grabbed his coat from the hook in the hallway, and slipped it on quickly.

"Look, I'm sorry, 'kay?" Alfred wasn't sure what exactly he was apologising for, but he did anyway.

"No, it's not! Shut up, and leave me the fuck alone!"

Alfred gave up. There was nothing he could do when Arthur got like this. So he just let him go. When the irritated Brit slammed the door shut, Alfred let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding, and sauntered back into the kitchen to clear up the table, biting his lip nervously. He always worried about Arthur, especially when he had these mood swings. He was unpredictable when he went off on one, but Alfred kept telling himself that Arthur wouldn't lie, he wouldn't be long, and Alfred would just have to wait it out and be optimistic. There was always the nagging at the back of his mind, but he ignored that the best he could.

While he wiped the table clean of crumbs and a small spillage, he caught sight of the photo on the window sill. He dropped the cloth for a moment, and went over to look, smiling fondly when he saw it and remembered. It was of him and Arthur - who looked a lot happier than he had been recently - standing infront of a large white plane; their first holiday away together, to Veneziano, in Italy. It had been magical. Alfred ran a finger over the joyful smile on this Arthur's face, taking in every detail - how his eyes lit up and creased at the edges, the two dimples on his cheeks - and his own smile faded slightly.

"I wish you could be happy again," he muttered to himself.


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur hadn't lied - he came back after two hours, which was short for him. He smiled weakly at Alfred, who was sat in the recliner watching baseball, as he took his coat off.

"Sorry about before," he apologized. Alfred grinned, determined to keep the mood light.

"Don't worry about it - let's just forget it happened, right?"

Alfred stood up, still smiling. Arthur's expression was nothing but relief - he must have been thinking Alfred was going to hate him.

"Come here." Alfred held his arms open, and Arthur gladly embraced Alfred, holding him tight.

"I really am sorry." Arthur's voice was weak, and Alfred squeezed him.

"Hey, it's fine. Seriously, don't think about it." He pulled out of the hug and kissed Arthur on the nose, laughing.

"Gerroff!" Arthur hit Alfred playfully, rubbing his nose.

Alfred raised an eyebrow - Arthur always spoke properly, unless...

"You've been drinking." It wasn't a question, and Arthur's eyes narrowed.

"So?"

"Nothing - it just sounded like you had, and I wanted to make sure."

"Riiight..." Arthur went into the kitchen then, probably to make some tea.

"D'ya think you can get me a coffee?" Called Alfred.

"'Kay."

And he was back to distancing himself. Great. Alfred's heart sank as he sat back down on the armchair. His eyes slid back to the television, but he wasn't paying attention to what was actually going on.

Should he ask Arthur what was bothering him? But he knew that already, didn't he? So there was no point - was there?

Alfred shook his head. No, it was better just to keep cheery, and try to take whatever it was off Arthur's mind.

Alfred took his coffee from Arthur when it was made.

"Thanks, Artie!" Arthur glared. "Uh, sorry - Arthur."

"Hm. You're welcome." Alfred grinned, and received a small smile back, much to his delight. He put the coffee on the fireplace to cool, and sat on the sofa next to Arthur. He slid an arm around the smaller man's shoulders, and kissed the top of his ear. Arthur bit his bottom lip.

He's so cute, thought Alfred. He chuckled quietly and ran his fingers through Arthur's hair.

"How're you feeling?" He whispered, as he kissed Arthur's cheek.

"Erm... I..." Alfred grinned as he saw the Englishman's cheeks turn dark red. "I don't know... I can't feel my legs, but I think that's good."

Alfred laughed. "Well, if that's the case, then I suppose I'll just have to carry you upstairs, won't I?"

"What? You're not bloody carrying me anywhere!" Cried Arthur hotly. Alfred raised his eyebrows, and used a finger to bring Arthur's face around to look at him. His eyes were so green...

"Why're you blushing? We're alone."

"Are you sure?" Arthur glanced around, his emerald eyes darting frantically, but Alfred held his face still.

"Yes. I promise. We're the only two here, we're the only people that live in this house, and no one can see us. I swear on my life." Alfred crossed his heart - an old habit, just to show he meant the promise. Arthur seemed to relax slightly.

"You're sure you're not lying?" His voice was wary, and he swallowed, his eyes wide.

"Arthur, I love you. I would never lie to you. 'Kay?"

Arthur seemed to think about this for a moment, before nodding. "Okay."

Alfred leaned forward, fairly slowly, his own sparkling blue eyes assessing every movement and expression Arthur made, before kissing him. Softly, gently. He cupped Arthur's cheek with one hand, their breathing becoming uneven.

Arthur kissed back fiercely - it must be the drink, Alfred thought, as Arthur locked his arms around his lover's neck. Alfred moved his mouth down to Arthur's throat, planting small kisses everywhere he could reach.

"How much alcohol did you have?" He breathed, half laughing.

"Not alot. Only a pint. About."

Well, at least that wasn't enough to make him hate everything.

Alfred kissed Arthur's lips again, shortly this time, before pulling away ever so slightly, so their foreheads were still touching, and their arms were still around each other. The tea and coffee stood where they were, forgotten.

"What are you thinking about?" Asked Alfred. Arthur furrowed his dark eyebrows.

"Strange question. Well, right now I'm thinking that I want you. You and nothing else. I don't want to think about anything else."

Alfred sensed that Arthur was getting himself worked up again, so he stroked his cheek with a thumb. "Shh. You don't have to think about anything else. I'm not." Alfred kept his voice gentle, but he was sure Arthur could hear the longing there.

And so the next hours unfolded before them, and it was amazing.

That afternoon, they were still on the sofa, Arthur resting his head on Alfred's bare chest, falling in and out of consciousness. But Alfred was wide awake, thinking everything over, both the past, and recent events.

He thought of Arthur. Beautiful, amazing, frustrating Arthur. He knew he wouldn't make as much effort for him if he didn't love him so much. He was a little ashamed of this, but he knew it was true. In his eyes, Arthur was the most beautiful person the Earth had ever created. He was far from perfect, but Alfred didn't care. Didn't care about any obstacles the world threw at them, didn't care that Arthur relied on him more than he ever let on, didn't care that he hardly spoke to his own family anymore, because they disapproved of Arthur. He had expected them to be worried, but not to cut him off completely. Of course, they were kind at first, but then after finding out about Arthur's... situation, they backed away. Or rather, ran away. Never to be seen again.

Alfred just couldn't understand how people could do that. If Arthur was some sort of drunken, drug-taking sex obsessed freak, then he could understand it, but he wasn't any of those. He was extremely fragile, though he covered it up as best he could.

When Arthur was six, he had been diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder, then when he was fourteen, the doctors had confirmed that he was also suffering from Dissociative Identity Disorder, or Multiple-Personality Disorder - luckily, these weren't severe cases, but they were still serious. He only had one alter that both him and Alfred were aware of, but he hadn't come out for at least five years. Arthur took his medication everyday though, so they were both glad that he seemed to be getting a little better. He still had mood swings and anxiety, but Alfred had practiced patience, and was used to it by now.

Alfred also thought about the news, how the police had no leads, how Arthur had been acting very strange lately, since he'd first heard about the murders...

No, Alfred told himself firmly. Arthur has nothing to do with the murders. He's just scared. And why wouldn't he be? No one knows who will be next.

**But maybe he knows something.**

Alfred made a mental note to control his thoughts. Of course Arthur didn't know anything about the murders! How could he? No, Alfred refused to think those thoughts. They were unhealthy, and just not right - Arthur would never kill someone. Sure, he had a temper, mood swings, and wouldn't hesitate to swear at someone if they annoyed him, but he would never kill innocent people for no reason. Heck, he wouldn't kill anyone full stop, reason or not, innocent or not. It just wasn't him.

But as Alfred looked down at Arthur's peaceful face - so utterly adorable when he was sleeping - he couldn't stop a flutter of doubt, deep in the pit of his stomach.


	3. Chapter 3

Alfred didn't know how much time passed while they were on the sofa, but he was starting to get hungry, and the sports channel wasn't distracting him well enough. If he could just get to the phone, he could get pizza or something - he didn't want to just go out and leave Arthur like he was, and he couldn't be bothered to make something.

Being slow, his movements careful, he shifted Arthur so he was lying down, and stood up. He stretched, cracked his knuckles, and yawned, scratching his head, before making his way over to the phone. But before he could reach out to get it, someone knocked on the door. Frowning in confusion, Alfred checked the clock above the fireplace. Who would call at half past three on a Sunday? Sure, the time wasn't too strange, but Alfred still couldn't think of anyone.

His stomach dropped, when he opened the door to reveal a policeman standing there. He swallowed dryly.

"Uh, what can I do for ya, Officer?"

The man smiled, though it didn't seem real. It was just to try and make Alfred less nervous, but it wasn't working. Frantic thoughts were crashing through his mind.

_Oh my god, what if Arthur does have something to do with the murders? What if they have proof? I don't want to believe it, but shit, what if I have to? What if they have a photo or something? What do I do? I have to invite him in!_

"Are you Arthur Kirkland?" Asked the officer. He had some accent that Alfred hadn't heard before - he had no idea where it was from. He shook his head, his movements jerky. Then he caught himself. _Hey,_ he thought. _I'm not scared. I'm not scared of anything! _He almost laughed at himself.

"Uh, no. Arthur's here though, but he can't talk right now."

"Well, may I come in? Maybe I can talk to you."

"Uh..." Arthur was in the front room, so he would probably have to, well, not be there. "Could you wait for one moment, please?"

The officer nodded, so Alfred shut the front door to, and hurried back to Arthur.

He wasn't sure how he did it without waking him up, but somehow he managed to carry Arthur upstairs, and into the bed. He covered him with the duvet, threw on a t-shirt, and went back downstairs, shutting the bedroom door. He opened the front door, and the officer was still standing there.

"Uh, come on in." He showed the man - who's name tag showed he was called Officer Boch - to the lounge, where they sat down, Alfred eyeing the other man warily, unsure of what he was going to do or say.

"So," he started. He seemed to choose his words carefully. "I'm sure you've heard about those devastating murders that are happening throughout the area?"

Alfred nodded. "Sure. Who hasn't? It's all that on our minds at the moment. It's crap, but I guess they'll catch who it is, won't they? For now we just gotta sit tight and lock everything that can be locked. Right?"

"Yes, well, see, the police don't have any leads as of yet. Or at least, we don't think we do. However someone called yesterday, saying they saw a man that fitted Arthur's description, near one of the crime scenes. I know this is difficult, but I was wondering if you knew anything."

"What description was this?" Asked Alfred. Boch thought for a moment, his eyebrows furrowed. He reminded Alfred a little of Arthur, by the way his eyebrows were dark, but his hair was blond, though the officer's hair was slightly darker than Arthur's. He also wore glasses - thin rimmed and rectangular, like Alfred's.

"Well, the witness didn't say anything about his clothing, but they said he had light blonde hair, fairly pale skin, and in the light, they're sure they saw green eyes. They also mentioned he was rather thin, and didn't look very healthy."

Alfred's mouth was dry. That sounded too much like Arthur for comfort.

"What did... what did they see him doing?" Asked Alfred, leaning forward unconsciously, though trying not to look into Boch's dark green eyes.

"Well, to be honest, I don't think this seems very suspicious, but I don't know Arthur. But he was laughing."

Alfred felt his heart pound, as his earlier suspicion burst into his mind. "How was he laughing?"

Boch looked confused. "Erm... well, the witness only described him as laughing, but they did mention that they could hear him from inside their house, with their windows closed, so he must have been fairly loud - if that helps at all... Is everything ok?"

Alfred didn't know what to feel. He couldn't feel anything. He didn't want to, because he knew he wouldn't be able to handle those feelings. Not just yet.

"Oh god." He was ashamed of his voice, which cracked on the second word, even though he was only talking quietly. The realisation finally hit him. He still hoped he was dead wrong, but he couldn't think of how he could be. "That wasn't Arthur."


	4. Chapter 4

"What do you mean?" Asked Boch. His expression was confused as he tried to guess what Alfred was thinking from his body language. "Who was it then?"

"It was-" No. He couldn't say it. He didn't want to just tell whoever - he would have to tell Arthur first - somehow. "Erm, would it be ok if I call you with the details? I need to talk to Arthur first."

"Well - I'm sorry, what was your name?"

"Alfred."

"Well, Alfred, I don't see the point in that. If Arthur has nothing to do with the murders, then why would you need to take up matters with him?"

Alfred glanced at the clock again, nervousness surfacing again, though he tried not to let it show - that would probably be noted as suspicious. They'd been talking for twenty minutes - surely Arthur would wake up soon?

"Look, you don't understand. Things are more complicated than they seem right now, so I really think it would be best for you to-"

"What's going on?"

The two men's heads snapped to the doorway, where Arthur stood. He was wearing pyjama pants - thank god, thought Alfred - and he didn't seem to be fully awake yet, so Alfred was glad he didn't seem angry at the sight of a police officer in the living room.

"Oh, hey Artie. Uh, Arthur." Alfred hastily corrected himself. "This is Officer Boch, he just wanted to ask us some questions about, you know, the recent events around the estate." Alfred noticed Arthur stiffen for a moment, but then relax.

"Ok. Just don't be too long. I'll make some tea. Do you take sugar, Officer?"

"Two, aitäh."

Arthur nodded with a friendly smile, before sauntering into the kitchen. Alfred heard the kettle click, along with the clinking of mugs. He visibly relaxed into his armchair, and Boch frowned.

"I'm guessing it's not usually this relaxed around here, is it?" He tactfully kept his voice quiet, so Arthur wouldn't hear.

Alfred shrugged, trying to seem casual. "Eh, it depends, really."

"On..?"

Alfred thought for a moment. "The general atmosphere, the mood Art's in, the mood I'm in. You know, that kind of thing." Boch nodded knowledgeably. "I think I understand. Now, I know you say Arthur hasn't been involved, but tell me, has he been acting differently lately?"

Alfred looked at Boch for what seemed like a long moment, before letting our a large sigh. What was he going to say now? Yes, Arthur had been acting strange - completely unlike himself - but if he told Boch, he'd only come after Arthur more forcefully.

"No..." The word and those that followed came out slowly, carefully, and Alfred shook his head, almost as if he was in slow motion and couldn't move any faster. "No, he's been perfectly normal."

He could tell Boch didn't believe him. He gave him a card with the specific number for his department, and told Alfred to call if he needed anything. Alfred reluctantly accepted, slipping the card into his jean pocket.

Boch stayed for the tea, but it was just to be polite, obviously. They talked of almost nothing while drinking, only Arthur trying to make small talk every few minutes. Alfred could hardly stand the awkwardness of it all. When Boch finally left, he collapsed on the couch.

"Ugh, finally! I though it would never end!" He noticed Arthur shaking his head, smiling as he stood up and collected the cups. "Hey, you're pretty hot when you're upside down," commented Alfred, grinning. Arthur chuckled quietly.

"Shut up, Alfred."

* * *

That evening, another murder was announced on TV. Arthur buried his head in Alfred's chest. They were in bed, watching the small television mounted on the wall.

"This is going too far," he mumbled.

"I hear you," Alfred agreed, nodding. "We'll be alright though. I promise."

Arthur pulled back, looking at Alfred with wide eyes. "That's a huge promise, Alfred. Are you sure you can keep it?"

Alfred grinned, straining to make it look natural; he hated seeing Arthur unsure, and as worried about everything as he had been lately. "What, you don't trust me?"

Arthur shrugged. "No, I do, it's just... I don't know..." He dropped his eyes. "I don't know how to feel safe anymore. it's not your fault, but I can't help it."

Alfred kissed Arthur's forehead. "You're safe with me. Even if you don't feel it, you are."

Arthur looked determined as he nodded. Like he was trying to convince himself. "I know. Sorry."

"Don't be." Alfred switched the television off with the remote, shrouding the room in darkness. He lay down, and felt Arthur do the same, next to him. "'night, Art."

"Love you." Arthur's voice was quiet, as though it wasn't meant to heard, but it still made Alfred smile as he closed his eyes, listening to raindrops start to fall outside the window.

* * *

**CRASH.**

Alfred jumped, his eyes flashing open, sitting bolt upright. He strained his ears, listening closely.

"Arthur?" His voice was thick, and he stretched out an arm to the other side of the bed.

It was empty.

Alfred's heart beat faster, and he was suddenly wide awake. _Oh, god, _he thought. _Please, no..._

He jumped out of bed, and rushed into the hallway.

From the kitchen below, some glass smashed loudly.

"Arthur?" Alfred could almost hear his heart, his erratic breathing. He couldn't move his legs fast enough.

**"GO AWAY!"** Arthur's voice was almost a scream, and Alfred stopped dead in the doorway of the kitchen, taking in the scene. An icy shock ran down his spine at what he saw.

A large glass bowl had been smashed. The table had been pushed forcefully against the wall, which he supposed had made the crash.

And there was Arthur, slumped against the furthest wall from the door. He was breathing heavily, his body trembling.

"I don't know what to do..." His voice was broken, lost. Alfred couldn't speak. His eyes were on the man's arms, were the glass had cut him. Blood was running freely down them, staining his clothes, seeping onto the floor.

"Arthur..?" Alfred stepped into the kitchen, unsure, but wanting nothing more than to do something. To help. It wasn't just the blood that bothered him, that made him feel lightheaded, and like his legs couldn't carry him. It was purely the fact that it was _Arthur's_ blood, that _Arthur_ had done this to himself, that _Arthur_ was hurt, and badly.

"Art?" He repeated, his legs shakily carrying him forward another step. Arthur lifted his head. His eyes were rimmed red and bloodshot. Tear tracks stained his face, along with more of his own blood, which came from a wound on his lip.

"He won't leave me alone." This time his voice was a whisper - a terrified, hopeless whisper. "I don't know what else to do. He has to leave."

Something in Alfred's head clicked, and confirmed his worst fears.

Oliver.

The alter.

That bastard.

"Arthur, you're ok - it's gonna be ok." Alfred had no idea was he was saying. He felt like he was side-stepping a wild animal; one wrong move, and he could get badly hurt.

Arthur's eyes narrowed into a glare. "What do you know?" His words whipped out, fast and venomous through his gritted teeth, that Alfred could see were also stained with the blood. His stomach did a flip. "You don't know anything - it's not gonna be alright! What are you, stupid?" Arthur dragged himself to his feet, flinching at almost every agonizing movement. His chest heaved as he dragged in large, shaking breaths. Alfred could hardly look, hardly watch the pain his lover was in. But he had to. If he took his eyes off of Arthur for one second, anything could happen.

"No, listen Arthur. Listen to me. You have to calm down, and tell me what's happening." Alfred couldn't think of anything more to say. Not when Arthur was like this. He hadn't been like this for so long, Alfred had all but forgotten how to deal with it. He was hanging on by a thread - if that thread broke, then he would lose it. Every feeling he was trying so desperately to hide infront of Arthur.

The bloodsoaked man looked at Alfred for a second, before laughing. It wasn't the manic, loud laughter that the witness on the phone had reported, but a deeper, more sadistic laugh. It made the hairs on the back of Alfred's neck stand up.

"Tell _you_ what's happening?" Arthur said. "Oh, that's rich! You haven't told me anything. Remember earlier? You and that police wanker talking about me... I could hear you both! You wanted to arrest me! What did I fucking do? **Nothing!**" He threw his arms out, indicating the nothingness he had done, and the blood from his arms - which were still bleeding - splattered a little on the wall next to him.

"Arthur, no, it's not like that, I swear-"

"Then what is it like, Jones? Lie to me and I swear I'll knock your bloody head off!" His voice was violent and barely controlled, the volume rising with every sentence. Alfred's voice rose aswell when he spoke, but not as much.

"I'm not lying! I'd never want you arrested, you know that!"

"Liar..." He was almost panting from the effort of staying upright, and his green eyes glinted madly.

"Arthur, stop it! Now! I'm not lying!" Alfred's voice was definitely a shout now; he'd run out of ideas.

Without warning, Arthur lurched forward, grabbing the front of Alfred's T-shirt and pulling him forward. Alfred automatically cried out, trying to wrench himself out of Arthur's grip.

"It's not Arthur now, love."

Alfred's heart was pounding so loudly, he barely heard the words. But he still heard them. His blood ran cold, and he froze for a second, before struggling harder. He threw himself backwards, and hit the hard, slippery tiles with a yell. Arthur landed on the ground aswell, letting out a scream of pain as he hit it with a sickening crunch. Alfred's chest was heaving, as he tried to block out the pain, sitting up a little to examine the man before him. Who was he?

"... Oliver..?" His voice shook, something he wasn't proud of, but he couldn't control himself anymore. When the man looked at him though, he was crying again. Oliver hadn't stayed long.

"Help me." His voice was that of a child, lost and without hope. Without purpose. It was raspy, almost a whisper, and his voice broke on the second word.

Alfred only started to move when Arthur's eyes rolled backwards into his head and he fainted.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: (03.03.13) Ok, so I went back and edited a couple of parts in earlier chapters - nothing's changed, you don't have to read it again if you already did, I just edited a few things that didn't sound right and so forth. Sorry I haven't updated in ages, I haven't really known where to go with this story - I've got the ending planned out, and then the beginning... not sure what's gonna come in the middle haha XD  
So, yeah... erm, hope you like this chapter, and I hope there's no mistakes in this one ^^'**

* * *

The night was black.

And the hospital was white. Alfred could not think of a better word for it - everything was some shade of white or cream. The shining, tiled floors, the painted walls, the beds, the patients' clothes, even the whole exterior of the building. Alfred had never really known why hospitals were always like this, but he'd never thought to ask. It seemed very insignificant now, though.

He watched Arthur intently, his eyes darting from his peaceful, paper-white face on the pillows, to his chest that was only just covered by the duvet - just to make sure it was still rising and falling. Alfred concentrated on the small movement, and as he gripped the frail man's cold hand, it was the only thing that kept him sane.

Alfred wasn't sure how long passed while he was sat at Arthur's bedside - it could have been hours, days even - but finally, Arthur's eyelids fluttered, and his emerald eyes looked up at Alfred tiredly, his bushy eyebrows set in a frown.

"Where am I?"

"Hospital. You cut yourself. The doctor said you lost a lot of blood."

Arthur pushed himself up heavily, and let himself fall back onto the bed when he was in a sitting position. His eyes faced downwards, his forehead creased, and Alfred didn't speak - usually he would have, but he was still worried about Arthur.

"When can I leave?" The Englishman's voice was low, and he didn't make eye contact with anyone as he spoke.

"You should be good to go in a few days," came a cheerfully accented voice from the door. Alfred turned his head to look at the doctor who had just appeared. His dark hair was a little curly, and his eyes - almost as green as Arthur's - were bright and friendly. He held a clipboard, and smiled warmly at them with brilliant white teeth. Alfred nodded.

"Uh, right." He glanced at Arthur, to see his reaction to this news. His eyebrows had shot up, and he was glaring at the doctor incredulously.

"A few days? I can't stay here that long! If I'm not out of this damn place by tomorrow, I'm gonna leave."

"Sir, please listen-"

"No! I'm done bloody listening! How about you listen to me for a change? If I feel fine, which I will by tomorrow, then I'm leaving. I don't care about your papers, or whatever you have that says I can't leave - I have rights, what about that 'Freedom of Speech' thing? You can't keep me here against my will!"

"Art, they're just trying to do what's best for you," Alfred said quietly, embarrassed by Arthur's outburst. He hoped no one in the next rooms had been woken up.

"Shut up, Alfred. Honestly, you can be as stupid as them sometimes." He paused. "And don't call me Art!" He lay back down huffily, facing away from the two men.

Alfred sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair - why did Arthur pick now to start being difficult?

"Right, whatever." Alfred hadn't meant to snap, but he did anyway. He looked at the doctor, who was watching them both with a curious expression. "Can I have a word?" He didn't think the doctor would be so surprised if he knew the situation. Well, some of it.

"Of course."

Alfred stood up. "I won't be long."

"I'm sleeping," came the irritated reply. Alfred rolled his eyes and followed the doctor just out of the room, shutting the door behind them so they were stood in the empty corridor.

"What is it?" Asked the doctor. He seemed a little strained, but he was still trying to be nice. Poor guy, thought Alfred.

"Ok, listen. I know you probably think Arthur's rude and I'm stupid or whatever you think, but that's not really the case... Well, ok, it kind of is, but it's not his fault. He has that, uh, you know, what it called again? Border... Borderline... Shit." Alfred scratched his head as he struggled to remember. "Oh! Borderline Personality disorder! That thing! We got told it wasn't too bad, but he has moodswings and all that. He's not usually happy for long, so if he snaps at you, don't take it personally, he's like that with everyone."

The doctor nodded as he digested this, understanding lightening his features.

"Ah, well that makes sense. Is there a reason he's not usually happy? Other than moodswings, I mean."

"Uh..." Alfred's arm moved to scratch the back of his neck as he thought. He didn't want to tell the doctor about Oliver, but he didn't think he had much choice. It wasn't something they should keep a secret at the hospital. "Well, aswell as the Borderline Personality thing, he has that... Dissociative Identity Disorder. You know, where he has the split personality. His alter-dude's Oliver, but we haven't seen him in years. I know it bothers him, though. He's as freaked out by Oliver as anyone." Alfred decided not to tell him that he had seen Oliver earlier that night, and that Oliver had probably been out a couple of times before.

The doctor frowned at the awkward American for a moment. "Oliver?" Alfred nodded. "Why is he afraid of his alter? What does this 'Oliver' do?"

"What does he do? Well Doc, I mean... he's just... he's just crazy, basically. I don't know how else to put it. Sorry for the language, but Oliver's just batshit insane."

The poor doctor obviously didn't know what to make of that. "Erm, right. Ok then, so I'll put that on his record. We'll have to look out for signs of this. How can you tell when he's Oliver, is it subtle?"

Alfred shook his head. "No. Believe me, if Oliver comes out, you'll know. Everyone'll know."

The doctor nodded in response, his expression serious. "Thank you for telling me this."

"Right. I guess I just figured I'd have to warn you, or something. I didn't want you to think Arthur was just an asshole, because he's not. He just doesn't wanna be seen as not being able to handle himself."

The other man exhaled. "Well, I suppose everyone has their own ways of dealing with this kind of thing."

"Right, yeah. Uh, can I sleep here tonight? I don't wanna just leave him here." Alfred felt his cheeks redden slightly; he felt ten years old, asking to stay over at a friend's house. The doctor gave a small smile and nodded.

"Yes, that should be fine. Will you need any bed sheets or pillows?"

"Uh, no, I'm good. Thanks, Doc."

"I'll be here to see him in the morning. If you need me, just press the red button on the table."

"Sure thing." Alfred watched as the young doctor strode briskly down the corridor, away to wherever, before going back into the room, where Arthur was softly snoring, curled up under the duvet and blankets. He sat back down on the armchair he had been in before, and before long, he could no longer keep his eyes open.

* * *

Alfred was shaken awake rather more roughly than he would've liked. Not that he would've liked to be woken up like that anyway.

"Sir, are you awake?" The voice sounded urgent - Alfred recognized it as the young doctor from the night before.

"Ugh... I am now." Alfred blinked and squinted up at him. "What is it?"

"I'm sorry, Sir, it's just... well..." Alfred followed the doctor's glace towards the bed, and stood up abruptly when he saw it was empty.

"Where is he?" His words came out fast and serious - he was suddenly wide awake.

"I don't know, Sir. I've only just come in here - I would've been here sooner, but there was a problem in another ward."

Alfred took his phone out of his pocket. No missed calls, and no texts. He sighed, exasperated, and called Arthur. When he heard the phone ringing on the other end, he rushed out of the room and down the corridor.

"What?" Arthur's voice didn't sound friendly.

"Listen, where the hell are you? You can't just leave like that." Alfred strained to keep his voice calm. Arthur's breathing seemed laboured, almost pants, like he had been walking for ages. "And when did you leave, anyway?"

"I don't know, I didn't look at the time, did I?"

Alfred was going down the stairs now - he was pretty sure Arthur had left the hospital, just like he'd threatened to do the night before. He took his phone from his ear for a second to check the time as he reached the last stair - half past twelve. Wow, he'd slept late. How many hours had Arthur been gone?

He could hear the doctor behind him - damn, that guy was persistent - and he spoke again, urgently. "Arthur, you gotta tell me where you are."

"What, so you can dump me back in a hospital bed and pile drugs into me?" He laughed mirthlessly. "Not likely."

Alfred breathed deeply. God, he wanted to throttle Arthur right then and there, if only he knew where he was. "Art, I'm not gonna do that to you. I wouldn't, you know it! Just tell me where you are and I'll pick you up." Alfred could hear cars in the background, but other than that there was no clue as to where the damn Englishman could be. He could be anywhere.


	6. Chapter 6

**Yeah, this one's a really short chapter - sorry about that! I'm working on chapter 7 now - originally I wanted to upload chapters 6 and 7 together, but then I didn't, so, uh, yeah...**

**Plus, I wanted to end on some sort of cliffhanger - you won't have to wait long for chapter 7 though, I promise! :D**

* * *

Suddenly, the line went dead, and Alfred scowled, hanging up.

"Do you know where to find him?"

Alfred turned to see the young doctor. They were now in the hospital lobby, which wasn't very busy. "No idea. But I will find him, somehow. I don't have to bring him back here, do I?" Alfred didn't think Arthur would be too happy about that, so he was relived when the doctor shook his head.

"No, but please take this, and be sure to contact me when you find him. He hasn't actually been discharged yet, and I'll need to know what sort of condition he's in." He handed the American a small card, with the word 'Carriedo' printed in black ink, and a number below. Alfred pocketed the card, and nodded to the small man before turning away, towards the doors.

"Good luck," he heard from behind him.

* * *

The sky was cloudy, but Alfred was thankful it hadn't started to rain just yet. He had decided against driving; it would be easier to find Arthur by walking, and anyway, he might be down an alley, or on a backstreet somewhere where it was impossible to drive down.

Alfred pulled his coat around him, bracing himself against the biting wind. He took out his mobile as he walked down the street, deciding to call Arthur again. He needed some sort of clue as to where he was - he didn't even know where to begin looking. He put the phone to his ear, and it rang.

And rang.

And rang.

Alfred wasn't sure how long he waited, but more than five minutes had passed when the phone was answered.

"What do you want?!" Arthur's voice was strained, and he sounded almost in pain. There was no noise in the background this time, like he was in a building. Alfred swallowed dryly.

"Arthur, what's happening?"

"I can't talk to you now, you don't get it!"

Alfred's pulse sped up. He didn't like this at all. "Art, you gotta talk to me. Where are you?"

"I... aaargh! I- I went home, okay? What, you gonna - nng - come and take me back to that place?"

Alfred's pace quickened, and he changed direction suddenly, power-walking as fast as he could toward's the estate. His stomach was at his feet, which ached from the walking, but he didn't care. He just had to get to that house.

"No, we'll stay at home. No more hospital, 'kay? I'm not gonna take you back there." Arthur's breathing was loud, and made Alfred's ear ache, but the anxious American didn't dare take the phone away from his ear, for fear he might miss something.

"Arthur? Arthur, talk to me. What's wrong?" He couldn't stop the desperation from seeping into his voice - he didn't care about the strange looks he was getting from some of the other pedestrians.

Alfred heard something then, like a door slamming, or something heavy being dropped, along with a shout from Arthur, before the line went dead and he started running, pushing past others and motioning apologies as he rushed past.

* * *

The little house was silent. The front door wasn't scratched, and neither were the windows. There seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary from the outside. Alfred approached the building gingerly, taking in everything from the immaculate garden to the creak of the porch steps as he climbed them. The door was open, so he didn't need to get out his key. He stepped onto the landing, and shut the door behind him as quietly as he could.

And everything was pitch black. He felt around the wall for the light switch, but before he could flick it, someone grabbed his front. He cried out, and turned the light on, only to see Arthur before him, his head buried in Alfred's chest, and his arms around the startled man in a tight embrace. Alfred hesitantly put his arms around Arthur, too, finding that the smaller man was trembling. He hugged him tightly.

"You're ok now, Artie," he breathed, resting his chin on Arthur's head.

"Am I?" Came the hesitant response. Alfred kissed the top of the Englishman's head.

"Yes." Slowly, Arthur's trembling stopped, and he leaned into Alfred a little. The American closed his eyes, relived for a moment.

"Hmm..." Suddenly, Arthur took his arms from around Alfred and grabbed the front of the bigger man's shirt, swinging him around and shoving him backwards onto the floor with surprising force, landing on top of him.

"Woah!" Alfred let out a short yell as he hit the wooden floor. "Art, what's-?" He stopped talking abruptly, as his mouth had suddenly gone dry._ Shit..._

Arthur - or, the man with Arthur's face, rather - leaned back a little, resting his head on his hands, while his elbows were digging into Alfred's chest. He chuckled softly at the alarmed expression on Alfred's face, and tucked a lock of hair behind the American's ear.

"'Ello, love. I haven't seen you properly in a while now, have I?"


	7. Chapter 7

**I hope I got Oliver right in this, I'm a little worried about it :/**

**But yeah - that update wasn't too slow, right?**

**Ok, I promise I'm working on chapter 8! I know it probably seems like I've stopped writing, but I've had writer's block, and I don't know what could actually happen XD I have an idea though, I just need to make it work! So sorry for the wait, and I'll be updating soon!**

**And Merry Christmas! ^^**

* * *

"Oliver." An uncomfortable, icy dread started to spread in the pit of Alfred's stomach.

"Yes, that's my name," said the man with a nod, that smug grin never leaving his face. "I'm glad you remember me, darling. Then again, I'm not really someone to forget now, am I? And you're just as handsome as ever, of course."

He pinched Alfred's cheek - a little too hard to be affectionate - before hopping off him and darting into the kitchen. Alfred rolled onto his chest and started to get up. He was starting to sweat a little; he couldn't properly remember Oliver the last time he had come out, couldn't remember how he should act, how not to make this psycho angry. He started tentatively toward the kitchen as well, finding Oliver at the table, sprinkling a bright yellow substance onto a small batch of cupcakes, covered in pale pink icing. They looked delicious, but Oliver's baking was one thing Alfred could never forget in a hurry.

"So, uh, when did you make those?" Asked Alfred nervously, nodding towards the cakes. Oliver beamed proudly.

"Oh, do you like them? I just finished them before you arrived. Pretty, aren't they? Why don't you have one?" Somehow, Oliver made Arthur's soft green eyes piercing and intimidating, which completely contrasted the rest of his grinning face. The smaller man came and pulled Alfred into a chair.

"Now, I'm going upstairs for a moment - that imbecile really has no taste in clothes. If all the cakes are still here when I come back, I might just have to re-decorate that gorgeous face of yours." His eyes twinkled as he flashed another grin, reminding Alfred strongly of the Cheshire Cat. "Trust me on that one, love." Hatred flared in Alfred's chest at Oliver calling Arthur an imbecile, but the American knew better than to do anything. Oliver kissed Alfred on the cheek, before dashing from the room. Alfred heard him go upstairs, and turned his gaze to the platter of innocent-looking cakes before him. He reached out and picked one up hesitantly, looking it over and sniffing it. It didn't smell strange, but that didn't make Alfred trust it any more.

_Ok, I don't have a choice. If I don't eat this one stupid little cake, that freak's gonna kick off_.

He scrunched his eyes closed, and took a bite of the small pastry. It actually tasted very good; Oliver had always been better than Arthur in the whole baking-and-cooking area of things, Alfred had to admit.

Alfred guessed that the result of eating the cake wouldn't be quite as bad as the result of not eating the cake, so he finished it in as few bites as he could.  
Just as he swallowed the last piece, Oliver came back in, making Alfred jump; he hadn't even heard him come down the stairs. He was wearing brown pants, with the pink shirt and light blue bow tie that Arthur had shoved to the back of the wardrobe, vowing never to look at them again.

"What did you think?" He asked, sitting opposite Alfred and staring at him expectantly.

"Huh? Oh, erm, it was very good - perfect baking, as usual, Oliver." Alfred was feeling increasingly uncomfortable, but he knew he had to keep the alter happy.

"Really? Oh, stop it!" Oliver waved a hand playfully, giggling like a schoolgirl at the praise. "And I didn't even put any of my special ingredients in those - you know, you need to go shopping. Doesn't _Arthur _ever bake?" He spat Arthur's name bitterly, before pausing for a moment. "Oh, I'm sorry, he can't even make food, can he? Did something happen to him, or is he actually that stupid?" Alfred gritted his teeth to stop himself snapping at him, this man who had stolen Arthur's body and was now winding Alfred up intentionally with a smirk on his face, knowing that the American wouldn't - couldn't - do anything to him. He had the man's beloved Arthur's body, after all.

"Oliver, don't call Arthur stupid." Alfred's voice was low and level - he didn't want to sound angry, or Oliver might snap.

"Or what?" Purred the man, getting up and walking over, behind Alfred's chair. He placed his arms around Alfred's neck, resting his head on the bigger man's shoulder. "Going to beat me up? Hit me? Pull my hair? You wouldn't want to mess up your dear Arthur's pretty face now, would you love?" His warm breath blew on Alfred's cheek, but the man just stared forward, his face stony as he fought internally with himself. He wanted to smash Oliver into the ground, but of course, he couldn't. He hated to admit it, but Oliver always had that hold over him; he couldn't do anything to the damn alter, because him and Arthur shared the body, and he could never hurt Arthur.

"Oliver, what do you want? Why are you here?"

Oliver shrugged. "Oh, different reasons. Mainly just because it's soooo boring otherwise. I like to be out there, you know? Plus, I think you missed me, secretly. Didn't you?"

Alfred swallowed, but didn't answer. Oliver tugged at a lock of his hair softly. "You _did_ miss me, didn't you?" He pulled the lock sharply, and Alfred dragged in a breath through his teeth, the weak pain shooting though him, before standing up abruptly, startling the alter.

"No, Oliver, I can't say I did miss you that much. In fact, I wish you weren't in Arthur's head all the time. Neither of us like you." Alfred felt he probably shouldn't have said that, but he didn't like not having the upper hand, or being the victim.

"Well now, that wasn't very nice, was it?" Oliver looked hurt, folding his arms across his chest and looking up at Alfred with those large, shining green eyes.

"You know, I thought maybe, you might actually be nice to me now. What with me having not even spoken to you for however many years it's been now."

"About six. I kinda didn't want Arthur to break that streak, and I know he didn't either, though it looked like-" he paused, swallowing nervously; he couldn't read Oliver's expression. "Looked like you got him in the end." Alfred could hardly form the last few words, but there was no point in shutting up now.  
Oliver blinked, looking surprised for a second, before that irritating Cheshire Cat grin returned to his face.

"You know, you're absolutely right. I did get him in the end. And d'you know why?" The alter moved the lean back casually on the table, those smug eyes never leaving Alfred's. "It's because he was weak. He's always been weak - I probably could've taken this body anytime throughout the last six years, I just couldn't be bothered with the work of trying." He shrugged nonchalantly. "But now I'm here, so you probably won't be seeing Arthur for a while, chap."

Alfred hardly let the man finish before answering. "Oliver, no. You give Arthur back that body, or I'll... I'll..." He couldn't think of anything - his mind had gone embarrassingly blank. Oliver laughed.

"Or you'll what? Lock me up? Phone the police? 'Oh help me, my pathetic excuse of a boyfriend's turned crazy and he won't do what I want!' D'you really think they'll do anything, or even believe you? Plus, I haven't _technically_ done anything yet. I made cupcakes - which I am quite proud of, by the way, seeing as I had almost nothing to work with and all - and I've spoken to you."

Alfred glared at him, before suddenly remembering something. "I need to ask you something."

"Ask away, dear."

"Did you commit those murders on the estate?"

Oliver chuckled, and picked up one of his cakes, taking a bite and swallowing it before he spoke. "Mm - how can you have had just one of these? They're simply to _die_ for, you must have amazing restraint." Alfred didn't answer, waiting for him to get to the point already. "And well technically, Arthur did those. You know, seeing as this is his body and all. But I _was_ using the body, so I guess you could say I did it, yes. However, do you think the judge would believe that Arthur and me share a body? They would probably think of dear old Arthur as a complete fool." His grin stretched wider. "So_ I'd_ never get caught."

Alfred narrowed his eyes. "But you would. If Arthur got taken in, you would too."

"Ah, but dear, if you shared a body, you'd know what I mean. It's a bit like... going to sleep. Or fainting, rather. If I didn't take the body again until he was out of prison, or wherever they put him, it'd be like closing my eyes and opening them a moment later, after all that silly law stuff is out of the way. It's definitely one of the only good things about not being the main pilot in a body"

Of course. Oliver had only ever seen Arthur as someone with no reason to be alive, and he had only ever seen Arthur's body as his personal robot, in a sense, so he could do whatever he liked and not get caught himself.

"But why? Why do you just decide to do these things? Do you not think it has an effect on Arthur? On me?" Alfred struggled not to raise his voice.

Oliver finished the cupcake, licking his lips, and chuckled. "Of course I know it effects you both. You seemed to be having so much fun without me, I decided to simply... remind you of my existence, that's all. And it worked out splendidly, I must say."

Alfred studied the other man for a moment. "That's not the only reason, is it?"

Oliver shrugged, and picked up another pink cake. "You're too impatient, love. Just wait, and time will unfold. In the meantime, how about another cake?" He smiled sweetly, and Alfred felt a little sick.


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: Yeah, I'm still alive, and I'm still writing this :L I know this chapter's kinda short but it's all I have at the moment, so I thought I'd better upload this, seeing as I've made you all wait for so long - I'm sorry!**

* * *

The rest of that day passed in a blur. Alfred tried to distance himself from Oliver as best as he could, tried not to listen to the inane chatter the man came up with, praying that Arthur would be back soon.

Alfred opened his eyes groggily the next morning, looking over to see that he was alone in the bed - that wasn't a big deal, he was usually the last one to get up anyway. Had he just dreamed it all then?

Hopefully.

Yawning, Alfred rolled over towards the bedside table, and grabbed his mobile. He'd just remembered the doctor from yesterday, giving him his card.

_"Be sure to contact me when you find him."_

Alfred sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, and picked his jeans from yesterday up off the floor, reaching into the pocket and taking out the small card. He dialled the number, and put the phone to his ear - Carriedo picked up after a few rings.

"Hola?"

"Uh, hi," started Alfred. "It's Alfred, from the hospital yesterday."

There was silence for a moment, before "ah yes! You were with Mr Kirkland, sí?"

Alfred sighed, relieved at not having to explain.

"Yeah, he went home, so I found him easy enough."

"Oh, good. Was he alright?"

"Erm.." Alfred didn't know what to say. Should he tell this man about Oliver? After all, he was a doctor - though from their conversation yesterday, Alfred knew he didn't really know much about DID. "He was, uh.."

"Señor?" The voice sounded unsure. "What happened?"

Alfred chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, debating. Ah, screw it. "Oliver got him."

Silence. Then, "Oliver? You mean, that other personality?"

"Yeah."

"Didn't you say he was, um, loco?"

"Yup." Alfred snorted quietly, though he knew he shouldn't laugh at the doctor's choice of words.

"So, what's he doing now?"

"I have no idea. I don't even know if he's still here, or if Arthur's come back. I just woke up, so I thought I'd just tell you I found Arthur - even if, you know, he wasn't Arthur for long." Alfred dragged in a long, shaky breath, before exhaling heavily through his nose.

"Well, I'm glad he's alright, in any case. Thank you for calling me, Mr Alfred."

"Uh, no problem."

Silence. Then,"It'll be fine." His voice sounded so sincere, that Alfred almost believed him for a second.

"I just... I don't know what to do."

"Well, I'm not very good at advice, amigo. But I know that things will work themselves out in the end. They always do."

"Well, I sure hope so. Thanks, Carriedo."

"Call me Antonio, por favor. And it was nothing."

Alfred hung up, and just stared at the phone for a moment, thinking. What if Oliver was right? What if Arthur was weak, and Oliver would keep the body for weeks, or even months, now he had it? Alfred put the phone back on the table, and sighed, running a hand through his hair in defeat. He'd have to get up, he couldn't really do anything else - he'd already got this far.

As he left the room, and started down the stairs, he felt as though the worry was eating away at his stomach.

Well, the living room was empty.

"... Arthur?" He called uncertainly, making his way to the kitchen. His stomach dropped when he saw Oliver, drinking tea - or whatever it was - and reading contently. He could tell it was Oliver; Arthur would never look so relaxed.

Oliver looked up from his book, and smiled at Alfred, his eyes creasing at the edges. Alfred wished it was Arthur smiling, so he could kiss his dimples and tell him how beautiful his smile was - but of course, he would never do that. Just because this man now had his Arthur's face and body, definitely didn't make them one and the same.

"Morning, Alfie!" Said Oliver, jumping up and throwing his arms around Alfred, who hugged back gingerly.

"Erm... hi, Oliver. Did... did you stay here all night, then?"

Oliver pulled away, frowning. "Now, that's not very friendly. Surely you don't want me gone so quickly?"

Alfred didn't answer, instead walking past the alter to open the cupboard and getting out a box of Lucky Charms, not bothering with a bowl or milk. The American smirked when he noticed Oliver's eyebrow twitch in annoyance; he hated laziness, and though Alfred knew it probably wasn't wise, he really couldn't be bothered with trying to please the damn personality anymore.

Alfred grabbed a fistful of the cereal, and threw it in his mouth carelessly; Oliver's teeth visibly ground together.

"What?" Asked Alfred coolly. "Annoyed?"

"Well, first of all, you can shut up," Oliver growled, the change in his voice almost scary. He seemed to take a deep breath then, and his usual smile appeared - if a little more forced-looking than usual.

"Now," he started, his eyes shooting daggers at the American. "Are you going to stop being a pig and get a bowl, or am I going to have to smash one into your head?" He gave a sickly sweet smile, and Alfred gulped; he knew when Oliver was serious, and with things like this, it was usually around ninety-nine percent of the time. In a rush of irritation, Alfred shoved the box back and slammed the cupboard door, meeting the personality's glare with an equally furious look.

"Don't you fucking threaten me, you understand?" The American spat. The Englishman's eyebrows shot up, and he regarded Alfred with a cool look, before that irritating grin spread across his face again.

"I understand perfectly, Alfie. But I'll do what I like, thanks love."

Alfred studied Oliver's expression warily. "No, you won't. You're just stealing Art's body; as far as I'm concerned, you don't get to make the rules."  
The alter strode up until he was nose to nose with Alfred, and the American looked down into those dark green eyes, glinting in the light - he was determined not to back down, and stood his ground.

"I've already made the rules." Oliver's voice was smooth and low, flashing his teeth in his sly grin. "It's up to you how you play the game."

Alfred blinked in shock when the smaller man pecked him on the nose, turned on his heel and stalked out. He didn't move a muscle until he heard the front door slam, and he let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes closing. What was he doing? In fact, never mind him, what the hell was _Oliver_ doing?

* * *

**Translation notes:**

**Hola = Hello**

**Sí = Yes**

**Loco = Crazy**

**Señor = Sir**

**Amigo = Friend**

**Por favor = Please**


	9. Chapter 9

**WOO! FINALLY, AN UPDATE!  
I am honestly so sorry about the random hiatus truthfully, I started this chapter ages ago - but I didn't know where to go with it...  
Only problem with this story, is that I knew how it started, and I know how it ends, but I don't know how I'm gonna get there... ;-; Plus, stuff happened - preparing for comic-con, and now I actually have some sort of love-life going for me, so :D I ****_have_**** been thinking about this story, but I'm still having trouble with writer's block!  
But, as a sort of thank you for waiting for me through the leave, this chapter's actually pretty long ^^ I hope it's as good as the others~!**

* * *

Oliver's words plagued Alfred's mind for hours after he left, and the American began to grown worried about the other's whereabouts. Where had he gone? When would he be back? Oh god, what if he was-

No. Alfred simply refused to think that, he couldn't let himself.

Alfred spent his time pacing, raiding the fridge and checking his cell every few minutes. He tried watching TV, but it just made him depressed and fidgety, and he went back to pacing before long. By half past six, Alfred was starting to seriously panic; it was starting to grow dark outside, and Oliver still hadn't come back.

_I have to find him. He could be anywhere_.

Alfred brushed the hair out of his eyes and straightened his glasses, before rushing to the hallway and grabbing his coat. He slammed the door behind him, and forgot to lock it until he was halfway down the street, when he sprinted back to jam the key in the lock and turn it hurriedly.

_Ok, just calm down. He'll be fine, nothing will have happened. You're just overreacting, you idiot._

Alfred chuckled to himself as he power-walked down the path, listening to the voice in his mind chide him like Arthur probably would.  
He couldn't tell how long he'd been walking for, but the sky had darkened and the number of pedestrians had dwindled noticably.  
He took out his mobile, and called Arthur, hoping he would pick up as he looked around the almost-deserted street, speeding up his pace a little. He couldn't tell how long the phone rang for, but just as Alfred was about to hang up, the Englishman picked up.

"A-Alfred?"

"Arthur?" He asked. "Where are you?"

"I-I'm at home, or I'm outside, I don't have a key."

Alfred immediately changed direction.

"I'm on my way. Are you alright? You've been gone for hours, I was just looking for you!"

Arthur's breathing sounded laboured, and he seemed to be having some trouble speaking. "I-I-I don't know," he stammered. "I mean, I think I... I just... oh god, just hurry up!" The line went dead then, as if he'd hung up, and Alfred scowled quietly before he broke into a run - he was too unfit for all this running, he thought.

He reached the house before too long, and he noticed Arthur right away, sat cross-legged on the porch. The outside light wasn't on - it had broken a couple of weeks earlier, and Alfred had kept forgetting to change the bulb - so he couldn't see the other man very clearly. He unlocked the door, and beckoned to Arthur.

"Come on, inside." Arthur stood up and entered the house quickly, wordlessly. Alfred followed him, closing the door and feeling along the wall for the light switch. He could only hear Arthur's quick breathing behind him, and he found the switch quick enough, turning to look at Arthur. A hand flew to cover his mouth at what he saw.

"Art.." He said slowly. "What have you been doing?"

"Don't call me Art!" Arthur shot at him, clearly not registering Alfred's shock. "A-and how the bloody hell am I supposed to know? I just opened my eyes and I was outside the house, lying on the pavement! Don't you look at me like that."

"Arthur, go upstairs, take a shower," he said, trying not to look disgusted or freaked out. Arthur glared at him. Alfred wondered how he didn't even notice.

"Since when is my _hygiene_ suddenly important?" He hissed, his eyes narrowing. Alfred exhaled heavily.

"Arthur, look at yourself! Look at your hands, you're covered in blood!"

The smaller man frowned, whatever he was about to say next cut off, and looked down at himself slowly. He was still wearing Oliver's clothes, and his own coat, but his shirt was splattered with crimson, and his hands were covered in it. Arthur backed away, his breathing coming harsher and quicker as his eyes grew round in shock.

"O-oh my god... did I... Al, wh-what the hell did I do?" He asked urgently, his voice almost hysterical as he looked over at Alfred.

"I don't know, Arthur, I wasn't there!" He cried helplessly. "You j-"

"Well what do you _think_ happened?!" Arthur hissed, his voice rising. "What, do you think I just went to the bloody _pub_? Went for a _stroll_? It doesn't take a genius to figure it out, Alfred!"

"Arthur, stop it, you don't know what happened! Now just go upstairs, get it all cleaned off, a-and we'll figure out what to do!" Truthfully, Alfred had nothing - no plans, no solution, no idea how to handle this. And he was terrified. But he couldn't let Arthur know that.  
The man in question just glared at Alfred for a moment, before pushing past him, and running up the stairs. Alfred heard him enter the bathroom, and he ran his hands through his hair with a quiet groan.

When Arthur came back down, he was dressed in some pyjama trousers, and one of Alfred's football t-shirts, and he sat next to the American on the sofa. Alfred blinked in surprise - Arthur might not be quite as much of a clean freak as Oliver, but he would never in a million years actually wear one of Alfred's t-shirts, or not even look bothered as his wet hair dripped water down his face. He was frowning, and he leaned his head against Alfred, who automatically put an arm around the smaller male's shoulders.

"I think I should call the police," Arthur muttered.

"Wait, what? Why?" Alfred stared at him, and Arthur just rolled his eyes.

"Alfred, _seriously_? I come in, covered with blood, and you just think we should let that go?"

"O-of course not! But I don't want you arrested, Arthur! They'll put you in jail for what? Life? I'm not losing you because of Oliver, Art!"

Arthur shrugged. "Those... those murders," he murmured after a moment. "They're him, aren't they?"

Alfred paused for a moment, before nodding. "Yeah, I-I think they are..."

"How long have you suspected?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, a few days? I wasn't sure though, and you know, I didn't want to worry you."

Arthur looked like he was about to argue, but then he just sighed heavily. "Whatever," he muttered. "I'm starving, I don't think that wanker even bothered to eat all day."

Alfred gave him a concerned look. "Well, considering he got you covered in blood, it was probably a good thing he didn't go to a café," he said.

"Hang on, I'll get you something." He kissed Arthur's wet hair quickly, and strode into the kitchen, coming back a few minutes later holding a plate with a small stack of toast on it.

"I couldn't find something that took less time to make," he explained as he set the plate on the coffee table in front of Arthur, who shrugged and picked up a piece, taking a large bite. He stared at the piece of toast for a few moments, before looking up at Alfred, who sat back on the sofa next to the smaller man.

"Al, wh-what if he makes me do something else? O-or hurt someone else?" He asked, his expression hopeless. Alfred exhaled heavily.

"Well, have you been taking your meds?" He asked. "If you are, then he shouldn't bother you, or anyone else."

"I... Erm..." Arthur bit his lower lip, frowning as he looked down.

"Art..?" Alfred gave the other a slightly stern look, before he sighed. "C'mon, man - you can't just stop taking them, they're there to help you!"

"I know that!" Snapped Arthur. "I-I just thought I'd be alright without them! I mean, I was doing ok!" He didn't like the medication in the first place, which was why he'd stopped. It made it hard for him to concentrate, and it made it difficult for him in other... areas.

"I know, Art - I know you were. And that was great! But if you stop the meds, then it's only going to get worse. You've gotta take them, Arthur."

Arthur's shoulders slumped. "I know. I will, I promise."

"Well, good." Alfred leaned over slightly to kiss Arthur's head. "I don't want anyone else to get hurt, including you. This whole thing is serious!"

"Alfred, I'm not bloody stupid, I know it's serious!" Said Arthur hotly, taking another bite of his toast. He thought for a moment, chewing, before he swallowed quickly and looked over at Alfred. "Wh-what if they know it's me?" He asked. "What if they find my fingerprints on something? What if someone saw me? What... what if... Alfred, what if I get put in prison? Wh-what about the death penalty?!" His voice rose as he spoke, his hands starting to tremble as the thoughts consumed him. Alfred pulled the frail man closer to him, holding him tightly.

"No," he said simply, firmly. "I'm not gonna let anything happen to you." He could still feel Arthur shaking, and he rested his cheek on top of the other's head. "It's ok now. You're safe," he murmured. "But you _have_ to take your meds in the morning. Promise?"

Arthur gave a small nod. "Y-yeah..." He was still holding his toast, but he gingerly placed his arms around the American, resting his forehead on Alfred's chest. "Thanks, Al..."

"Hey, I don't mind!" Said Alfred, pulling back a little and grinning. "I mean, non of it's your fault, and what kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn't stay with you?"

Arthur just shook his head slowly, wondering how Alfred still managed to smile after all of this.

"Besides," Added Alfred. "Even if the police do happen to come around here, I'm sure we'll find some way to convince them that what happened was out of your control - they can't arrest you then, right?"

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "And how do you suppose we convince them of that then?" He asked, his tone skeptical.

"Well, we'll think of something."

There was silence for a moment, before Arthur spoke quietly. "Al, you'd never cheat on me, right?" He asked. Alfred frowned, shocked that the Englishman would even have to ask that.

"Artie, why would you even think that?"

"It's Arthur," he shot automatically. "And just answer the question!"

"No! No, of course I wouldn't!"

"What if it was with Oliver?" He folded his arms across his chest defensively. Alfred sighed.

"No, _Arthur_, not even with Oliver. He might have your face 'n' all, but he's not you, 'kay?

"Are you sure?"

Alfred took Arthur's face in his hands gently, brushing his cheek softly with a thumb. "One hundred percent," he said quietly. "I love you - not Oliver. If anything, he kinda freaks me out." Alfred chuckled, and the Brit snorted quietly. The sunny blonde leaned in for a kiss, but Arthur pulled back a little.

"Huh? What's up?"

"You... you don't think Oliver would hurt _you_, do you?"

"C'mon, do you really think I'd let him?"

"W-well, no, but what if he, like, hit you or something while you're not looking?" Alfred could see clearly that the Brit was getting agitated, and he smiled softly.

"Art, I keep an eye on him the whole time he's here - or I do my best to. I'm not gonna let him hurt me, I'll be fine. Just please, stop worrying?"

Arthur's brow pinched in concern, but he exhaled heavily, nodding. "You're right. Sorry. I'm just... after earlier, I'm not feeling so great."

"Well, let's change that~" Alfred leaned forward again, and this time, the Brit didn't pull away, kissing back with some force. Alfred smiled against his lips, and reached over to take the toast from Arthur's hand, tossing it in the general direction of the coffee table, before pushing Arthur down gently on the sofa, climbing on top of him properly.

"Al.. Wh-what are you..?" Alfred started kissing down Arthur's throat, and the other let out a sigh, his eyes closing.

"I missed you earlier," the American muttered, nipping softly at the pale stretch of skin.

"Nn, sorry.." Alfred chuckled quietly, one hand creeping up the t-shirt that the smaller man wore. "A-Alfred, wait." Arthur took hold of Alfred's wrist, and confused blue met concerned green.

"What's wrong? Come on, Artie - you can't just leave me hangin'!"

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "I think you'll find I can, actually." He sighed heavily. "I'm sorry, Al, I'm just tired."

"So I'll carry you up to bed afterwards!" Alfred was never one to do anything against Arthur's will, but he still got persistent when he was turned on and Arthur wasn't.

"No, Alfred," he said firmly.

"But you'll change your mind if we start..." Alfred said, trying not to sound whiny. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"No, I won't. Now, get off me, finish up, whatever. I'm going to bed - today's been crazy and weird and I don't even remember most of it."

He put a hand to his forehead, pushing Alfred up off of him and sitting up. He pecked the American quickly, before picking up a new piece of toast, and standing up, going upstairs. Alfred watched him go wistfully, before flopping down on the sofa with a quiet groan, and running his hands through his hair. He waited a moment for himself to calm down, before he sat up, adjusted his glasses quickly, and picked up the plate of toast. He took two slices, and threw the rest away, putting the plate in the sink - he could wash that up in the morning. He then leaned against the counter as he ate his pieces of toast, looking out of the window. God, he just hoped nothing would happen to Arthur - in all honestly, what Oliver was doing scared the crap out of him - of course it did, it made him nervous and edgy, not knowing if or when Arthur would transition. Hopefully things would calm down once Arthur started taking his medication again though, he thought. He knew the Brit didn't like the different pills, which kept him himself, and kept him stable - they interfered with his normal routines, and his thoughts, but they both knew that he couldn't stop taking them. It would be alright if, well, if Oliver wasn't a psycho, but unfortunately for everyone, not taking his meds put people in danger - both of them knew that, and it honestly killed Alfred that his Arthur had to go through this. He finished his toast quickly, and wiped his hands of any grease, before going upstairs himself. He could hear light snoring coming from the bedroom, and he smiled to himself as he got undressed, put pyjama pants on, and got quickly into bed next to Arthur, who was already curled up under the covers, his still damp hair splayed out on the pillow. The American took off his glasses and put them on the bedside table, before getting comfortable and closing his eyes, letting his mind drift.

* * *

**Soo, feel free to review if you like it ^^ Oh, and if you have any ideas of what could happen next chapter, they'd be appreciated, or it might be a bit of a wait while I come up with something good enough to fill a whole chapter ;-; seriously, I'm sorry for how bad I am at this! But for next chapter, hopefully there shouldn't be quite as long a wait as for this one!**


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